


(Fuck A) Silver Lining

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew tries new things, Domestic, M/M, Neil still has a smart mouth even years after canon, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 05:26:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14635017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: “Eat my ass,” Andrew says, shoving his middle finger in Neil’s general direction. He goes back to scooping cookie dough onto the baking sheet, but the sudden silence from his usually so argumentative boyfriend unnerves him enough to glance over his shoulder.Neil clears his throat. He’s bent low over his papers, but his eyes aren’t moving anymore and his ears have turned curiously red.“I would, if you wanted me to,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.





	(Fuck A) Silver Lining

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Panic! At The Disco Song of the same name.
> 
> LISTEN I know rimming isn't everyone's thing and especially the idea of Neil rimming Andrew probably won't fly with everyone. I personally think it COULD be a thing they try because Andrew doesn't have any bad memories associated with it, but if the concept makes you uncomfortable, it's probably best not to read this.
> 
> Some vague mentions of Andrew's past.

It starts like this.

On the day after his thirtieth birthday – which would be a bit horrifying if Andrew still had the capacity to be horrified at anything – Andrew is making cookies out of a box. Out of several boxes, to be exact, because one didn’t feel like enough. King is standing on her little step stool, front paws on the counter, watching him bake as she likes to do and occasionally chittering at him when she wants to sniff or look at something. It’s just what she does. Andrew holds out a handful of chocolate chips for her to smell and then dumps the lot in his mouth. Neil pointedly rustles the pages of his new contract that he’s been poring over for the last half hour.

“What?” Andrew grunts.

“Nothing,” Neil says. “It’s just, you’ve been eating nothing but birthday cake since yesterday, and now you’re making cookies.”

“So?”

“So, I’m just thinking, Kevin has a point when he says you would have made that save against the Bulls if you paid more attention to your nutrition plan.”

“Eat my ass,” Andrew says, shoving his middle finger in Neil’s general direction. He goes back to scooping cookie dough onto the baking sheet, but the sudden silence from his usually so argumentative boyfriend unnerves him enough to glance over his shoulder.

Neil clears his throat. He’s bent low over his papers, but his eyes aren’t moving anymore and his ears have turned curiously red.

“I would, if you wanted me to,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.

The words fall on Andrew’s mind like drops of water on a hot stove, jumping around wildly for a second before evaporating with a hiss.

He doesn’t say anything. King bats a stray chocolate chip off the counter with her paw before wandering off, bored.

*

Later that night, Andrew goes to bed with a stomach full of cookies but also pasta with chicken and broccoli, which he might have made just to prove Kevin and Neil wrong. He lies wide awake in the dark next to Neil’s scrunched up form and stares at the ceiling. Judging by Neil’s breathing, he’s not asleep yet either, but only just.

“Why?” Andrew asks the silence.

They usually make a point of discussing these things in broad daylight these days, dragging their doubts and fears and inhibitions out screaming and kicking until they don’t look so big and bad anymore. Some conversations, though, still need to be had in the dark.

“Hmm?”

Neil stirs sleepily, rolling around until he’s facing Andrew.

“Why would you do. That.”

Andrew’s arms tighten around himself. He knows it’s stupid – everything about this is stupid; the weirdness, the discomfort, all the sharp-edged mouths still lurking in his memory ready to clamp down on the next best trigger. He’s watched so much porn about rimming, has got off to it by his own hand, hell, he’s done it to Neil a few times. It’s frustrating, that everything new always has to be _a thing_ , even after so many years.

“What?” Neil hums. “Eat your ass?”

Andrew shifts and tries to relax his grip on his arms, tracing old scars with his thumbs.

“Because it feels good,” Neil murmurs, nosing into the pillow. “It’s like… it’s all about making your partner feel good, right? I wanna make you feel good, Andrew.”

Andrew isn’t sure if it will. Neil enjoys it – vocally – and Andrew knows all the technicalities of what goes where and how to move his tongue to make Neil go “ah, ah, _ah_ ,” like he’s shivering apart at the seams, but he still can’t imagine how it would feel. His usually so acute memory just draws a blank. It isn’t even connected to anything painful – and that’s rare, for him, though not as rare as it used to be. For a brief, almost-funny second, he thinks maybe that’s how Neil felt the first time Andrew put his hand down his pants.

God. He had to turn thirty to feel like a fucking _virgin_ for the first time in his life.

“I can hear you thinking,” Neil yawns, amused. “Go to sleep, Andrew.”

“Fuck you,” Andrew says, without heat, and lets go of his arms.

*

“No fingers, and I won’t lie down or get on my hands and knees,” Andrew says, standing in their bedroom with a towel around his waist. He’s taken maybe the longest shower of his life and he feels scrubbed clean and raw to the bone. His skin is pink from the hot water and fresh sweat is beading on his forehead and sternum and under his arms. Neil still looks at him like it’s the first time Andrew’s taken his clothes off for him, and he shifts his weight from one leg to the other, feeling unbalanced.

“Well,” Neil says slowly, “you _could_ sit on my face.”

He doesn’t try to stifle or hide his smirk and Andrew is grateful for it, because that means he can scoff and roll his eyes and tell him, “You wish,” and they can snark back and forth a bit, taking the edge off the precarious moment.

“How about standing up, then?” Neil says lightly, the words padded with one of his thousand watt smiles. He fucking _knows_ they make Andrew weak in the knees.

Which is counterproductive right now, really.

Andrew lets himself be manoeuvred with steady hands. Neil places a pillow on the desk where Andrew works on his book in the mornings – now there’s food for inspiration – and guides Andrew forward until he’s sort of bent over but not really, arms braced comfortably on the pillow. The other one is dropped unceremoniously on the floor behind Andrew for Neil’s knees, which are not as young as they used to be. This is a set-up Andrew is familiar with from blowjobs, except that for those he doesn’t have his back turned to Neil.

“Okay?” Neil asks, easing himself down.

“Fine,” Andrew grunts.

Neil’s hands snake around his front and deftly undo the towel, throwing it on the bed. They slide around to the backs of his thighs next and push until Andrew shuffles his legs apart. The weirdness fizzes up and over again, like snorting soda through one’s nose, and Andrew bites out a coughing sound.

Neil patiently waits until he’s calmed down, then he fits his cool mouth over the swell of his thigh and leaves a trail of soft, wet kisses there. They meander slowly upwards and Neil sucks a bit more skin between his teeth with each one, the way Andrew likes to do to him some days. Andrew imagines the reddened marks he leaves, tender reminders of where he’s been, where Andrew has allowed him to go, and shivers.

Neil doesn’t make a big deal out of it once he reaches his ass. He eases his cheeks apart and sets his infamous silver tongue to work, licking broad swipes from his balls up, barely lingering over his hole at first. It feels – odd – mainly damp, but not in a bad way. Andrew reaches down to wrap a hand around his dick and pump himself to full hardness, trying to comfortably swing between the two different sensations. Neil is nothing if not dedicated, though, and his tongue slowly but steadily coaxes Andrew’s muscles to relax.

“Okay?” he pauses to check in, holding him open and ghosting his breath over exposed skin.

“Keep going,” Andrew says, and Neil makes a pleased little sound.

He alternates sloppy licks with suckling kisses and Andrew finds himself arching into it the more he gets used to it. Andrew has never been particularly loud or even verbal in bed beyond the necessary, but Neil has learned to read the nuances in his silence over the years and rarely needs to be explicitly told yes or no anymore. Even Andrew is surprised when a small, involuntary groan punches itself free from the back of his throat. Neil pauses for a moment, breathing heavily, then he moans softly in reply and it jolts through Andrew like a shock, the noise and the vibrations and the fact that Neil is enjoying this.

Through the open vee of his legs, Andrew can see Neil’s hand palming himself through his sweatpants. Something Neil once said lights up in Andrew’s memory like a Christmas tree – _I like that you like it_ – alongside the more recent _I wanna make you feel good, Andrew_. His hand tightens on his dick and slows down into long, leisurely strokes. Neil’s tongue is doing something it shouldn’t know how to do, considering this is his first time too, and he hums every time Andrew makes a small sound or presses closer.

“Andrew,” Neil murmurs breathlessly. “Fuck, I could do this for hours.”

Andrew’s left leg trembles under the strain of his arousal. Neil seems to notice and smooths his palm over it, down and then up, then further up over his hips until he can rub sneaky, skilful fingertips over Andrew’s nipple, drawing out a gasp.

Andrew feels half like he’s melting and half like a live wire. He’s snug and safe between the parentheses of Neil’s mouth and hands, and for once he can allow himself to fall and be caught. It’s like the opposite of vulnerable.

His orgasm builds up slowly, teasing and retreating like Neil’s skilled tongue, until it finally crests. The wave of it sweeps a few more noises along in its wake, salt-rough and shivery, and Neil gently guides him through it with his capable mouth.

“Fuck,” Andrew pants. His legs feel like jelly. Neil smothers a laugh in the back of his thigh and tugs on his hips until he crumples inelegantly to the floor.

“Good?” Neil grins, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He looks like a mess, but his eyes are alight with mirth.

“Acceptable,” Andrew mutters. He doesn’t think he can get up again any time soon.

“Mhmmm,” Neil hums, looking pointedly at the come dripping down Andrew’s hand and the exhausted angle of his legs. “Next time you should sit on my face.”

“Next time you should talk less,” Andrew growls.

“So you agree there’s gonna be a next time?” Neil laughs. “Score. Here, I’ll bring you a washcloth so you can catch your breath, old man.”

Andrew watches him leave for the bathroom and sinks back against the bed behind him. The water cuts on, pipes gurgling to life, and Andrew’s stomach grumbles loud enough to drown out the sound.

Maybe he’ll make cookies. Not from a box this time, though – sometimes trying out new things isn’t so bad, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY THAT'S DONE now I can go back to writing soft stuff and we can all pretend this fic never happened ok? ok good


End file.
